


Comfort

by GeniaTheParadox



Series: The Cumberfantasy Series [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:52:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeniaTheParadox/pseuds/GeniaTheParadox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benedict Cumberbatch is your neighbour and offers a shoulder to cry on after you break up with your boyfriend... and then sexy times ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This one has a lot more feels and angst and fluff and stuff than the other one did. But there's still smut. Of course.

It feels strange being in the flat by yourself. The break up was inevitable, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less, it doesn’t make Andrew’s absence any less heartbreaking. Deep down you know that this is all your own fault. You know if you were in Andrew's place you would leave too. It was the beginning of the end when Benedict Cumberbatch moved into the flat upstairs.

Yes, you’re own stupid fangirl crush is the reason why you are now single. You and Andrew were together for a year, happy and contented, before Benedict came along. At first you were merely star struck, amazed that an actor you had admired for so long was now living in the flat just upstairs from you. You had blushed and stuttered and made a complete arse of yourself when you had first met him on the stairs as you were on your way to the supermarket. All he’d done was introduce himself and shake your hand, but your knees still went weak. But as time passed and the two of you spoke more often, had proper conversations and got to know each other, the novelty of Benedict being famous wore off slightly, and he became just like any of your other neighbours.

Except that he isn’t just another neighbour. He is the kind, sweet, handsome, funny Benedict Cumberbatch, whose voice makes you shiver and whose eyes make you melt. Andrew would’ve had to be blind not to notice, and he would’ve had to be stupid not to give up on you when you were so clearly a lost cause. He could never compete with the way that Benedict could make you feel without even trying. You don’t blame Andrew for leaving.

But it’s not that simple. You can’t just be with Benedict now, even though you want to so much it hurts. That’s why you feel so stupid, why this break up has been so painful. The feelings for Benedict that ruined your relationship are pointless because Benedict has a girlfriend.

Her name is Olivia. You’ve only met her a handful of times, and everything about her makes you feel terribly inadequate. She’s tall, thin, blonde and effortlessly pretty, and when you first met her she may as well had been wearing a t-shirt with ‘I’m Better Than You’ written across it. You’re not entirely sure whether you dislike her because she seems so unfriendly towards you, or just because she’s Benedict's girlfriend. The only positive – if you can call it that – is that Olivia and Benedict seem to have a very on/off relationship. Sometimes you hear raised voices and slamming doors coming from upstairs, other times you hear the bed creaking as they have sex (which is a million times worse).

You wish that you could just forget about Benedict. Even if he wasn’t with Olivia, it’s not like your feelings would ever be reciprocated. You’re just neighbours, barely even friends. You only really see each other in the hallways or on the stairs. And yes, he always smiles at you and asks you how you are, but he’s just being friendly – isn’t he? There are more than just two flats in this building. Is he as nice to all his neighbours as he is to you? You don’t want to think about it. Obsessing will only make it worse.

You’ve spent the whole day in almost constant tears. It was an effort just to get out of bed and get dressed. You don’t want to look quite as tragic as you feel in case anyone pops round unexpectedly to see how you’re coping without Andrew. You’re eyes are red and sore from crying, but by the early evening you’ve finally stopped. Just as you’re contemplating opening up that second tub of Ben & Jerry's, there’s a knock at the door. You’re too sad and tired to even wonder who it is, or care for that matter, so you get a shock when you find yourself face to face with Benedict.

“Hey, I was just wondering if I could borrow some teabags, I’ve...” His face falls and his words trail off as he gets a good look at you. “Are you okay?”

In the back of your mind you realise what you must look like. You had thrown on an old t-shirt and some leggings, your hair was probably a mess from lying on the sofa all day, and your whole face was most likely blotchy from several hours worth of sobbing. _Fuck_.

“I’m fine,” you say after clearing your throat awkwardly. “I just...” You look into his worried eyes and know that there’s no point in lying. “Andrew moved out. We... he broke up with me.”

“Oh God, I’m – I’m so sorry,” he says sympathetically.

You beg yourself not to cry in front of him even though you can feel fresh tears stinging your eyes. “I’m fine,” you repeat lamely.

“If you need anything, or if you need to talk to someone,” he says gently. “I’m here.”

His genuine sympathy makes your heart ache, and you invite him into your flat without even really thinking it. After you tell him where everything is, he makes you both a cup of tea, and then you both sit on the sofa and talk. And all the while you try to avoid admitting the real reason why Andrew left. _It’s because of you, Benedict. It’s because he knew I was in love with you._

Eventually you can’t hold it in anymore, and you’re sobbing again before you can stop yourself. Benedict gathers you up in his arms so you’re crying against his shoulder. He holds you close, rubbing your back and stroking your hair, whispering soothing words of comfort in your ear. Being in his arms feels so right. You feel so safe and whole with him holding you so tightly. You try and savour the feeling, sure as you are that you’ll never get the chance to be held by him again.

The tears subside and you finally calm down, but Benedict is still holding you and you haven’t got the heart to pull away from his embrace. You feel him press a kiss to the top of your head, before parting from you slightly so he can look at you. All the sympathy in his eyes is enough to make you want to cry again. He cups your face in his large, slender hands, using his thumbs to brush the tears off your cheeks. Benedict leans forward slowly and kisses the corner of your mouth ever so gently, making you sigh. Then his lips meet yours, just a light ghost of a kiss, but enough to make your heart skip a beat. And then he’s kissing you properly and you can’t help but kiss him back. It feels so magical, but just as you feel his tongue gently licks your bottom lip, asking permission to deepen the kiss, your conscience kicks in. _He has a girlfriend. We shouldn’t be doing this._

“No,” you whisper, tearing yourself away. “No, Ben, we... we shouldn’t... we can’t do this to Olivia.”

Benedict sighs and leans backs on the sofa, looking forlorn. There’s so much hurt behind his eyes, and you just want to kiss the pain away like he had just done to you.

“Things are kind of... _complicated_ with me and Olivia,” he says with a frown. “We spend most of our time arguing these days. We fight, she threatens to leave, we make up, and then the cycle starts again. I’m starting to think she knows...”

“Knows what?”

“Knows that I...” He sighs again and runs his fingers through his hair. “She knows that I don’t love her as much as I used to. Because I’ve fallen for someone else.”

Benedict takes hold of your hand and squeezes it, and there’s no way you can deny it anymore. The feelings are mutual. Being so in love with him isn’t as pointless as you first thought. His admission renders you speechless. You don’t think of guilt or consequence. All you think of is _Benedict_. He wants you just as much as you want him. He actually loves you too.

You reach over and cup his face, lightly stroking his high cheekbone until he turns to look at you again. There’s a moment when you just look at each other, the seconds feeling like days, before suddenly you’re kissing again. Your kissing is harder this time, more passionate, the want that you’ve had for each other pouring from both of you. Your hands are tangled in his hair as his tongue skilfully explores your mouth. You shift on the sofa and pull him down so he’s lying on top of you, your heated kiss never breaking. Benedict’s hands are all over you and he’s rutting against your thigh, an obvious bulge in his jeans. You want him so badly and you’ve never been so turned on in your life. You don’t want any of this to ever stop.

As Benedict’s lips trail down your jaw and to your neck, kissing and nibbling, you unbutton his shirt with trembling fingers, desperate to touch him. He slips his hand up your t-shirt, his touch making your skin tingle, and he lets out a deep groan of satisfaction when he feels that you aren’t wearing a bra. You gasp as you feel him rub and pinch your nipples, both becoming hard in a matter of seconds. He pushes you t-shirt up without taking it off, lowering his head to take your nipple in his mouth. Pleasure ripples through your whole body as he moved from one breast to the other, his wonderful mouth making you wetter and wetter.

You push his shirt of his shoulders and he hastily takes it off and throws it on the floor. He catches your lips in another hard kiss, and his hands slips past the waistband of your leggings and into your damp knickers. His fingertip circles your clit, making you moan into his mouth. Your throw your head back and cry out when he pushes two long fingers inside you, his palm rubbing against your clit as he thrusts them in and out slowly. He whispers your name in a deep baritone growl against your lips, staring at you with his startling ice blue eyes blown out with pure lust.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, stilling fucking you with his fingers. “Especially like this. I want you so badly.”

“I want you too,” you moan. “Oh please... please, Ben...”

“Are you sure? I don’t have a...”

“It’s fine, trust me, I’m on the pill. Please, Benedict... _I need you_...”

You can’t help but whimper in disappointment when he slowly removes his fingers, but the way is sucks his wet fingers clean makes up for you feeling so empty. His own hands are trembling as he unzips his jeans and pulls them down along with his boxers, releasing his long, thick erection already leaking beads of pre-come. You clumsily kick off your leggings and knickers, and pull him down on top of you, tangling your fingers in his hair as you wrap your other hand around his cock and guide him to your entrance. You both gasp as he pushes length inside you in one movement, pausing only for a second before he starts to thrust in and out of you.

There isn’t much of a preamble, no starting slow. Benedict slams into you hard and fast, making you moan loudly as the sofa creaks underneath the two of you. You wrap your legs around his waist, rolling your hips to meet his hard, relentless thrusts. Benedict is groaning your name, his face buried in your neck as he pounds into you, and you feel so close to the edge, right on the precipice, like you’re just seconds away from unravelling completely. You’re losing yourself in him entirely, desperately begging him to fuck you harder and not to stop, _please don’t ever fucking stop, Benedict_...

And then finally something snaps, and it’s like a tidal wave of pleasure is crashing over you. You’re whole body shudders and quakes under the intensity of your orgasm, your toes curling and your fingernails clawing down Benedict’s back as your scream his name. A few more erratic thrusts and Benedict is coming too, riding out his orgasm as his cries out your name.

You lay in a tangle of limbs on your sofa, sweaty and breathless and thoroughly debauched. Benedict lifts his head, his short curls sticking to his forehead with sweat, and smiles at you, a huge ecstatic grin that lights up his face and makes you smile back at him immediately. His leans down and plants and sweet, chaste kiss on your lips, gently brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

“I love you,” he whispers.

You feel your heart swell with happiness. You can’t believe you had started this day feeling so bad about yourself, and now _this_. It feels too good to be true.

“I love you too, Benedict.”

Eventually, when you get your breath back, you both move to your bedroom. Neither of you feel any guilt or worry as your snuggle and kiss under the duvet. All you feel is comfort, happiness and, above all, love.  


End file.
